


last flowers

by Blownwish



Series: please please please let me get what I want this time [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, JJBella, M/M, Pliroy, Sad Ending, Yaoi, peripheral otayuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: If he is an honest man, he will tell her tonight. If he is a good man, he will tell him to go to the one he really loves. If he is a brave man, he will confess and repent. He will let the chips fall where they may. But he is none of these things. He is afraid.





	last flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [boxwineconfessions](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/boxwineconfessions). She makes me wanna sing the blues, in a good way. 
> 
> Written with [Last Flowers](https://youtu.be/jAToWYyERAw), by Radiohead, looped.

Isabella was talking about going to a psychic again. He doesn't expect Madam Rose to tell her anything concrete, psychics would win lotteries and work for world governments if they could really see the future, but the whole idea makes him nervous. “It’s not a real sin,” she said. “Real sins hurt people. This is harmless.”

He almost gulped the Sloan Proprietary, which would've been a shame. It was one of the best cabernets he ever had, the sommelier said this was the last bottle. “It's not that, baby.” He put it down. “It's just… I think they're a waste of time.”

“You know what your problem is? You're too literal. You think the world is what you perceive with your five senses.” She tipped her head back and finished her glass. That made for five distinct lipstick imprints on the glass. He poured out more Sloan. He watched her smile. He wondered how she could be so smart and so wrong. “I know what you're thinking. I'm crazy, right?”

“Baby, I knew you were crazy the minute you agreed to go out with me.” Smooth comebacks always worked and it didn't fail him this time because she laughed, and making her laugh was in his top ten priority list. Women liked that.

She winked. “You know what I think?”

He watched the sommelier (Maurice?) greet an older couple at the door. “No telling.” He wondered if they would still come to Maison Boulud when they were older. If they would even know the person they came with, by then. If she would know, by then.

Did she know, now? If psychics were real, he would ask one.

“I think you're the crazy one.” She held up her glass.

He couldn't tell. Jean Jacques clinked his to hers. “Á ta santé.” Maybe this was the end? Her ring sparkled in the light.

++

“Hurry the fuck up and do me.” Yuri Plisetsky is beautiful. He's always _beautiful_ , milky and smooth, like a shot of cream liqueur. Jean Jacques wants to guzzle him down until his head spins and he passes out. “We don't have much time.”

There is never enough time in these hotel room meetings. There is a knock, sex, and then there is goodbye. It is all Yuri will take from him and all he's got to give, because this is always wrong.

Jean Jacques watches him take off his tracksuit, Russia becomes a pile on the Burberry carpet. The man underneath stopped being the boy who's virginity Jean Jacques took, years ago. He's tall, wide shouldered, and there's a distinct possibility he's strong enough to kick his ass with that lean, muscular body. “Fuck me.” Yuri tosses him the lube. “On the floor.” He gets on his hands and knees.

The challenge is thrown down and Jean Jacques smiles because Yuri knows how much he loves a challenge. “Is that it?” He is standing in front of him, he touches his cheek, he touches his lips. He stays up at night, imagining this mouth, that fine upper lip and this full lower lip, like a cushion he can fall into, forever, and he dreams of kissing them, wakes up aching for them. “Oh, Chaton. You know better than that.”

“I just want your dick.” He's pulling Jean Jacques’ sweats down. He's licking him, and he's watching him as blood pulses through him and he's making him feel almost alive because he's taking him into his mouth. He growls and he sucks. He grabs his ass and he moves. He watches him with those green blue eyes, where Jean Jacques always finds himself distilled down to his most basic components.

If he is an honest man, he will tell her tonight. If he is a good man, he will tell him to go to the one he really loves. If he is a brave man, he will confess and repent. He will let the chips fall where they may. But he is none of these things. He is afraid.

Can he tell? Of course he can tell. Isn't that part of what makes Yuri hate him so much? It's bad enough to pretend you're the king, and even worse to be so weak.

He pulls Yuri’s hair tighter. “Chaton!” Afraid of of letting her down, of losing him, _of being alone_

“Come on.” He's pulling away from him, now. He's got his back to him and he can't see his face anymore. This is what he gives him, his ass. This is what he takes, two lubricated fingers. This is where it ends up, Jean Jacques pushing himself inside and pulling him on his lap, because he's not even strong enough to make this just about sex. He buries his face in his shoulder and begs: “Please?” _Please kiss me. Please want me. Please just pretend you love me. I'll take anything._ And Yuri turns his head. And Yuri opens his mouth. “Please?” And Yuri lets him in.

He is a terrible man.

++

She liked long walks along the paved La Fontaine Park path, holding hands as the trees arched overhead. Sunshine shimmered between the leaves and she swung his hand back and forth. “I want to bring our kids here.”

“Madame Rose say how many?”

“At least six.” She smiled and the leaves rustled in the wind. “Lots of boys and maybe a little girl.”

A blonde jogger passed them and for a moment he thinks of him. He was everywhere, in every blonde he saw, now. In his dreams, now. Jean Jacques wondered what he was doing now. If he was thinking of him, now. Probably not. He was in Almaty. Yuri didn't think about him when he was with Otabek. He was just a bad habit.

“She said you wouldn't do well by yourself. That we should stay close.” She trapped his hand in both of hers. He wanted that to make him happy, but all he could think of was milky white skin and soft little huffs against his neck in broken Russian. “I knew that, already.”

She might have known everything, and maybe she was just trying to give him a chance to say it, so she could let go of his hand. He couldn't tell. All he knew was he wanted to be able to say it.

“You're awful quiet, babe.”

He just smiled, instead. “Six, huh?”

“Scared you?”

“Nah! You can't scare the King, baby.”

++

St Petersburg is hellish because he can feel Yuri everywhere in the streets as the Uber van drives to the Four Seasons Palace Hotel. His parents are silent, content and holding hands, and he does the same with her. This is his last Grand Prix. He's already signed a contract with his home rink to take over the family business and coach his brother and sister. Maman can finally retire and Isabella can finally marry him. It feels like St Petersburg is the last place where he will be seen alive. And maybe that's a good thing? He will be put out of his misery.

He expects the knock in the middle of the night. He knows who it is before he opens the door. Yuri doesn't look him in the eye this time, he just walks in and stands there, back turned, facing the bed. “Heard you're going to retire.”

He is standing so close behind him, now. Yuri’s hair stirs as Jean Jacques lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. He doesn't move as he pulls him into his arms. He doesn't resist as he buries his face in his neck. He lets him breath in the clean scent of his cologne. He even lets him stay that way for a little while.

“I'm getting married.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to get married.”

“Why?”

“That's what people do. Get married. Have a family.” _And die_. “Things can't stay the same, forever.”

Yuri turns his head. “So this is it.” Jean Jacques can feel those lips move against his as he speaks. They taste like strawberries and cream and he wants to always taste them.

“Yeah.”

Yuri touches his cheek, the way Jean Jacques always touched his. “Fine.” Then he kisses him. Gently. Slowly. Carefully, because they are about to break apart. “You can hold me this time.” He always did, but now he finally has permission.

“Turn around for me?” He does. “Look at me?” He does. “Do you even like me?” Yuri won't answer him. He just touches his cheek again. “Probably better that you never said.”

“Yeah.”

 _"Oh, Chaton._ "

++

Otabek and Yuri were married in Stockholm. Isabella got their invitation in the mail, which was warmly declined. They were expecting their first child, Alaine Josephe, to come into the world a week before the ceremony. “It's so thoughtful of them to send it, anyway”

He sat on the leather sofa in the living room of their three story home, surrounded by family photos and pictures of his own wedding, as he imagined Yuri walking down the aisle. Would he wear a white tuxedo with a cherry blossom pinned to the lapel? Would he smile when he saw Otabek waiting for him at the foot of the chapel? Would he give him a second thought before he said _I do?_ Would he even notice Jean Jacques wasn't there?

He had no way of knowing. He stared at the crucifix mounted over the fireplace. All he knew was what he could see, right now. Everything else was a fantasy.


End file.
